Page 61 of Homeless

“I have never stood on so little ground from which to mock someone else. Come, out with it, or you will be making that face all the way to the coast.”

“I shall not.” She rose from where she had been sitting beside him and walked towards the small, cloudy copper plate where a lady was meant to attend her toilette. She found his reflection in it, and he had risen to his feet to stand behind her.

“I think even you would agree that I am likely the more stubborn of the two of us, though by only a very narrow margin. You may as well confess whatever it is.”

She lifted her shoulders and reached for the pitcher to pour some more water into the basin. “Yesterday, in the plaza, when you… That is, when we…”

“‘Kiss’ is not an evil word, and even if it were, I doubt that would make you shrink from saying it.”

She turned to face him. “You said I was terrible at it.”

“And you are. But that is not a character failing. All you want is a bit of practise.”

She raised her brows softly. “Practise?”

His face went blank for an instant, then swiftly closed down. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I never even asked you for anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Nothing of the kind. I never liked practising my pianoforte, I loathed practising my needlework, and if ever have to practise my curtsey again so that ‘Lady Catherine would not be ashamed of me,’ I shall… I shall…”

He crossed his arms. “Go on. This was just becoming interesting.”

“I shall throw the kettle through the window, I suppose. So, no, just because I repeated a word you said does not mean anything at all.”

“Just as well.” He unfolded his arms and bent before his trunk. “I have been injured enough for one day.”

Elizabeth frowned at his back as he searched in his trunk for a fresh shirt. When he found one that had suffered less on the walk from Calahorra than the bloody, ripped one he was wearing, he pulled the old one off over his head. There was very little of his back to be seen now, after her bandaging job, but that one scar…

Elizabeth bit her lip and turned away to take her hair down. “However —”

He sighed. “What now?”

“Well, it is only… we are travelling as husband and wife.”

“Hence the ring.” He pulled the fresh shirt over his head and tugged the cuffs to straighten them, still facing the trunk. “Something to maintain appearances.”

“But we get on by quarrelling. We act more like a brother and a sister than a married couple.”

He snorted. “Nobody would accuse us of being siblings.”

Elizabeth frowned and began to plait her hair for bed. He was silent — she thought he was probably still looking away, because he never seemed to mind displaying his bare chest to her, but he always seemed uncomfortable with glancing her way when her hair was down.

“Why not?” she asked suddenly.

She heard the floorboards shift as he turned. “What?”

“Why would no one think we are siblings? We have nearly the same colouring. I once heard you say your sister was about my height. I hold you in no awe, and you are perfectly overbearing when it suits you, which I assume —”

“First of all, I am not overbearing to my sister, and secondly…” His eyes narrowed. “No. Forget it.”

“You are simply a fount of wisdom tonight. All I asked to begin with was why you think I am such a bad kisser, and we have gone six turns about the room without finding a single corner.”

“When I make out whatever you meant by that, perhaps I will have an answer.”

Elizabeth put her hand on her hip. “Very well, I shall put it plainly. Show me what I did wrong.”